Nobody Else Could See
by kali6
Summary: Nolan spends his life hiding in plain sight.


**Notes****: Written for Yuletide 2013 for pwincess!**

The title is from Kate Nash's 'Nicest Thing'

_"I wish you had a favorite beauty spot_

_That you loved secretly_

_'Cos it was on a hidden bit_

_That nobody else could see_

_Basically, I wish that you loved me"_

because that's how Nolan feels to me: always needing to be someone's someone special.

**Disclaimer****: Revenge and its characters are owned by ABC and other people. I just like messing with Nolan.**

* * *

Nolan woke with gasp.

He lay rigid, curled inward in self-protection, and focused on his breathing. After a time, once he could no longer feel his heartbeat crowding in his throat, he rolled onto his back and kicked free of the tangled sheet. The warm summer air felt cool against his sweaty skin.

He reached his phone, needing to connect somehow with some other person. Jack, Ems, even Aiden – any one of them might answer his call, unless...

Unless Jack was out with Margaux.

Unless Aiden had to dance for the Graysons.

Unless Emily had Revengeda work to do.

Of course they would answer, unless there was something more important than Nolan going on in their lives.

Nolan let his arm drop. The bone-deep loneliness that lurked in the shadows moved in with renewed vigour. The nightmare feelings that he had just woken from began to crowd his mind again. It was just as unfun awake as it had been in his sleep.

He groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. Enough. Beds were a place for pleasurable activities. If he wasn't able to sleep, and there was no one around for his other favourite between-the-sheets activity, he might as well get up and distract himself. There were laps to swim and a new recipe for cranberry-orange shortbread he wanted to try.

* * *

**five days later**

"These are almost as good as Sara's" Jack mumbled around a mouthful of cookie crumbs. "I never would have assumed cooking was one of your skills."

Nolan smirked from behind his whiskey tumbler. "Contrary to popular belief, not all computer geniuses live on ramen noodles and energy drinks." He shuddered theatrically. "Can you imagine what that would do to this flawless complexion?"

Jack laughed. "I never pictured you with cup-noodles," he said, closing the cookie tin and tucking it behind the liquor bottles. "I just figured you had every high-end restaurant within fifty miles of Montauk on speed dial."

"Guilty as charged," Nolan admitted. "I make a criminally good lasagna, but put me in front of an uncooked chicken and I'm as helpless as a fashionista in Wal-Mart."

He twirled his fingers, playing the role of effete society playboy to the hilt. He noticed some of the locals giving him the side-eye. An exaggerated wink and toast with his glass took care of them.

Jack's snort brought Nolan's attention back to their end of the bar.

"Making new friends?" Jack asked.

"Always," Nolan replied cheekily.

Jack's smile was similar to how he looked at Charlotte, a mixture of affection and exasperation. Nolan grinned back as his friend moved down the bar to serve Mr and Mrs Straight and Narrow-minded.

Watching Jack engage in friendly banter with the customers, Nolan once again thanked his fairy godmother for granting this particular wish. Not that it had been easy – when Nolan figured out he couldn't buy Jack's friendship, he had been faced with the terrifying realization that he had to earn it the old-fashioned way. Nolan had never been comfortable with the vulnerability required to be that open with another person, the honesty necessary to form a true bond with people like Jack. It went against every instinct he had.

Nolan was pulled from his thoughts by Jack dropping a fresh tumbler of whiskey in front of him.

"What's this?" he asked.

"From your 'new friends' down there." Jack could barely hide his teasing smirk. "I guess you underestimated your appeal."

Nolan stared at the older couple, but years of social etiquette saved him from making a total idiot of himself. He raised the glass in a toast, genuine this time, and returned their smiles with a confused grin of his own.

Sipping the top shelf liquor, he turned back to Jack. Meeting his friend's amused gaze, Nolan quirked his eyebrow upwards.

"Turns out they have a son who's into computers," Jack said. "A son who happens to be gay."

Nolan sucked in his breath, glancing down the bar.

"I guess that computer people aren't always the most..." Jack trailed off.

"Accepting?" Nolan suggested, sarcasm edging out bitterness. Barely. "Oh, I know. For a bunch of self-proclaimed social rejects, they can be really good at making a guy feel like a pariah."

Jack's eyes were soft with sympathy. It made Nolan feel, well, uncomfortable. Vulnerable. His least favourite feeling.

"Well, it sounds like Simon was doing pretty badly, until he read an article about you." Jack glanced back at Nolan's new fans. "The kid left the company where he was being harassed and built a start-up with a couple of friends. They sold some kind of program to Google a few months back, apparently."

"Impressive," Nolan smiled into his glass. "Guess I should look him up. Invest."

"Maybe," Jack didn't sound convinced. "But that's not what Colleen and Jim were thinking. They just want to thank you for being you, openly. That's what helped their son."

"Awww. I'm like a Lifetime movie in the well-toned flesh," Nolan joked to hide his shock.

"Seriously, Nolan," Jack countered.

"Seriously, Jack," Nolan replied. "I'm no role model. I'm just living my fabulous life."

Jack smiled a soft, kind smile that made Nolan ache for his friend's generous heart, so often battered by reality and the Revengeda.

"Nolan, you live your life how you want to and clearly don't give a fuck what anyone thinks about it. That's kind of inspirational."

"That's kind of ridiculous," Nolan scoffed. "I'm the worst role model possible." He looked down at his drink. "I'm a fraud."

Jack snorted. "Right. You're just faking being a self-made billionaire genius playboy."

Nolan found himself fidgeting with the tumbler. "It's an act, Jack," he confessed in a low voice. "What you know, what _they_ know, is all an act."

Jack's expression faded to one of sympathy. He crossed his arms on the bar and leaned in. "Not all of it," he said. "Maybe you're a bit of an eccentric sometimes, but I know you."

"You know what an eccentric is, Jack?" Nolan asked bitterly. "Someone who is too rich for people to call him a freak to his face."

"Or maybe it's someone who decided that being called a freak isn't a good enough reason to change who he is," Jack suggested.

"Well, if they're going to point and laugh and whisper behind your back anyway, you might as well give them something to talk about."

Jack huffed a laugh. "I suppose."

"Made sense to me when I was sixteen. So I made up 'the fabulous Nolan Ross' with the clothes and the sass and the 'fuck it all' attitude. And I've stuck with it for twenty years because it's easier."

"Easier than what?"

"I don't know," Nolan admitted. "Than finding out if people will still point and whisper and call me freak if I stop, I guess."

"You do know that they point and whisper already, right?"

"Well, of course they do. As they should. Who could ignore all this amazing?" He picked up his glass and knocked back the last of the whiskey. "For serious, though, Jack, I don't care when people are talking behind my back any more, because I don't have to wonder what they're talking about. I _choose_ what they're talking about."

Jack's face lit up with a smirk. "Sorry, Nolan, that sounds like role model material to me. But if you want, I'll tell Carl to ignore any advice you ever give him."

"He'd better ignore my advice," Nolan warned. "Except for fashion advice, because there's no way my honourary nephew is dressing like a docks worker. I've given up on you, but the next generation of Porters are going to have _style_."

* * *

**five weeks later**

"Hey, cuz," Nolan said with smile. "Looking good."

"Shut up, Nolan," Aiden snapped. "Not much point to those cover IDs you bought us if you go shouting it around the Hamptons."

"Get your knickers untwisted, Aid. We're in my secure, regularly bug-checked house on eight freaking acres of land. Who's gonna hear us?"

"Aiden's right, Nolan." Emily's voice was husky. Lingering effect of swallowing and vomiting up gallons of sea water. "Don't take any risks. Not with everything so... fucked up." She sighed deeply.

Nolan crossed quickly to perch on the edge of her bed. "Fucked up? What, just because the wrong Greyson shot you? Hardly the end of the world," he scoffed, taking her hand in his. "C'mon, do one of your Zen-detta meditations and the solution will float to you like a stinging butterfly."

He knew he was babbling, but it was unsettling to see Ems like this. Not just her injuries - though thinking about bullet holes was enough to make him feel faint and furious at the same time. No, the most disconcerting part was seeing Emily without a plan.

"It doesn't work like that. I built everything in my life around Emily Thorne's death at Victoria's hands. " She closed her eyes tightly, causing a tear to escape. "And now all that I've worked for is destroyed."

Emily's crumpled face was heartbreaking. Nolan squeezed her fingers tightly.

"Daniel. Victoria. They've all see the truth about me, Nolan. All my planning, the person I created for my revenge. It's gone. I'm gone." She pulled her fingers free and rolled to face the wall.

Nolan felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw his own shock reflected in Aiden's face. This was not their Emily. At a gesture from the Brit, Nolan followed the other man to the kitchen.

"That's... not Em," Nolan began, feeling helpless.

"No, it's not," Aiden agreed. "She's been like this all day. I can't seem to get through to her. I was hoping you'd have a go."

"Me? But I don't speak Revengese. I'm not a graduate of Takeda's Payback Boot Camp," Nolan joked, trying to break Aiden's poker face. No joy. "C'mon Aiden, what am I supposed to say that will get through to her? I don't understand any of this. You're the pro. I'm just a vendetta dilettante."

Aiden smiled slightly. "I don't think so, Nolan. You want to take down these people just as much as Emily does." He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "You may play-act as a dilettante, but I see behind that mask of yours. There's fire in there, Nolan, and hate."

Nolan pulled back, uncomfortable at the intense turn the conversation was taking. Aiden followed, putting a hand on Nolan's arm.

"More importantly, there's love. For Emily. For her father. It's because of that love that I think you can reach her," Aiden explained. "You've known her longer than any of us, and you can reach past her masks, past Emily, past revenge, and talk to that girl who lost her father."

Nolan stepped away from Aiden, needing time with his thoughts. He'd tried reaching Emily through her father in past; it hadn't worked. She'd lost sight of her father's wishes, she was so fixed on her revenge. Now she didn't even have that. She needed something to fight for. If he could help her, in any way, of course he would.

"Do you really think I can help Ems?" he asked.

"Maybe. I think you can talk to Amanda Clarke, that part of her that she hides from the world, even from me." Aiden turned from where he was preparing coffee. "And I know you love her. She needs that."

Nolan felt himself flush as he blustered "Ems is my BFF, sure, but that's..."

"Bollocks," Aiden interrupted. "You play the part of the best friend, and sure, you love her like a best friend. But that's not the end of it." He handed Nolan an espresso. "Don't bother pretending with me, Ross. As a man who's fallen in love with Emily, I'm able to recognize a fellow traveler."

Nolan's brain had ceased to function. He focused all his attention on not dropping his demitasse.

"Don't worry, Nolan, the coffee's not poisoned." Aiden sounded amused. "It's not like that." He stepped into Nolan's personal space and lowered his voice. "I've always known that I share Emily's heart with you. I've never had a problem with it, because I know that behind all your pretense and foolishness you love her as deeply as I do. That you would do anything for her."

"I..." Nolan had to clear his throat. "I do. I would."

"Good. Now get in there and help her."

* * *

**five years later**

Nolan stood at the grave site, the scent of fresh grass tickling his nose. It felt odd, the warm, damp smell of turned earth that accompanied these visits to his oldest friend.

"You should be by the sea," he said abruptly, "with the sharp salt breeze and the white sand. Surrounded by the ever-changing beauty of the water and the dunes. You should be in the place that brought you and Amanda so much happiness."

He knelt by the headstone, rocking back on his heels. "Now look at you – making me all maudlin. And on such a lovely day. I'm going to be all blotchy if these tears smudge my SPF 45."

Nolan settled to the ground, crossing his legs.

"Grass stains be damned. So, what's happened since I last dropped by?" he mused. "Well, it's been a while and I'm sorry for that. So much going on, you know. Oh, I do have big news about Charlotte. She has turned out to be a proper Clarke after all: full of drive and nosiness, with a ridiculous sense of justice. I guess Victoria's genes are recessive." He chuckled.

"Anyway, I told you how she went off to J-school. Sure, we all thought she'd be writing for the fashion pages, but she seems to have developed a taste for uncovering the truth. Think it's genetic? Whatevs. So now she's writing for Voulez, and she and her chere amie Margaux are up to their pretty necks in making sure people get what they deserve. She uses the name Clarke for her byline, you know. Thought you'd like that. You'd be proud of her."

Nolan's voice trailed off.

"I miss you. Still. Always, I guess," he admitted. "I miss our talks, even now. Y'know, I used to think you were the only person I could ever be real with, be really me. I thought you were the only person who would ever understand me."

He shifted restlessly, tapping his fingers against his thighs.

"I know you thought I was being melodramatic. You used to tell me 'Nolan, most people aren't going to understand you, and that's okay because you'll find the people who do and they will give you the strength to ignore the rest of the world.' Total 'dad' advice. I sure didn't believe you at the time, but I loved getting 'dad' advice. You were a hell of a lot better at it than my real dad."

Nolan snorted softly. "A hell of a lot. And I used to feel guilty because I felt closer to you than to my actual father. Not that I didn't love my dad. It's just," he sighed. "He wasn't part of the group of people who could see me – love me – for who I am."

He found himself smiling. "I have those people now. The 'The Real Nolan' fanclub. You might have been the founder, but now it has a President, your own daughter, and a Vice President – remember Jack Porter? There's also his wife Margaux, and Charlotte, on good days. There's even this guy Aiden, he's like the Secretary or Treasurer or something.

"And there are 'legacies.' Carl Porter. Kid's only six and he's already a natural coder. Pretty decent fashion sense, too. And there's Skylar and Thomas." Nolan felt his smile widen. "Skylar and Thomas Ross. Yup. Ross. Couple of genius kids Emily decided we had to rescue from the foster system.

Nolan stood slowly.

"Yeah, Emily and kids. You'd be so happy to see her now. There's no more hate, no more revenge. She's learning how to take off her masks and face the world. So am I. We've stopped hiding, David. We made peace – with ourselves, with the past. We found love, and happiness, and a family. We miss you so much, and you're always in our hearts, but we're finally moving on."

Nolan leaned forward and placed a small piece of driftwood on the gravestone. Sunlight caught on the mother-of-pearl inlay: two infinity symbols, eternally entwined.

"We learned the lesson you were trying to teach us. Thank you."


End file.
